Encouragement

Don't you love how sometimes the songs or sermon in church seem as though God had hand-picked them for you? That's how church has been for the past two weeks for me.

Last year before my surgery, I found great comfort in listening to they hymn "Be Still My Soul," which was written by Katharina von Schlegel in 1752. At that point, fearing that I may have a stroke before my surgery or have a heart attack on the operating table, my greatest comfort came from the second verse of the song:

Be still, my soul: your God will undertake
to guide the future, as He has the past.
Your hope, your confidence let nothing shake;
all now mysterious shall be bright at last.
Be still, my soul: the waves and winds still know
His voice who ruled them while he dwelt below.

As pertinent as that is to the circumstances our family is facing right now, those of you who know the uncertainty of our current situation will understand even more how much this, the third verse, meant to me this morning:

Be still, my soul when dearest friends depart,
And all is darkened in the vale of tears,
Then shalt thou better know His love, His heart,
Who comes to soothe thy sorrow and thy fears.
Be still, my soul: thy Jesus can repay
From His own fullness all He takes away.

I spent a great deal of the singing portion of church this morning fighting tears, but it occurred to me as I was singing - sometimes out loud, sometimes only in my heart as I was trying not to cry - that I was in that very moment preaching the Gospel to myself as our pastor likes to say.

How encouraged I was as the Holy Spirit reminded me of His love and His sovereignty through these lyrics.

But, it got even better. Once we'd finished singing about how God would soothe our sorrow in separation and how he would calm my fears, we then sang "Praise to the Lord, the Almighty," originally written by Joachim Neander in 1680! (Both of these hymns were written in German and later translated into English during the 19th century.) Sometimes it's easy to think that the fears and struggles we face today are somehow unique to us, so I love singing lyrics that were written literally hundreds of years ago.

Where my greatest source of fear and anxiety right now centers on our family's separation and the sorrow of leaving the places and people that I love, David's anxiety has more to do with leaving his secure job and launching out on his own, albeit with a partner. Many times in the past few weeks we've questioned whether we are doing the right thing, especially David as he lets go of a secure job, dependable paychecks, the security of health insurance, etc. When we sang these verses of "Praise to the Lord, the Almighty," I again couldn't help but savor in the comfort that comes from reminding ourselves of the power of the Gospel (bolded emphasis mine):

Praise to the Lord, who o'er all things so wondrously reigneth,
Shelters thee under His wings, yea, so gently sustaineth!
Hast thou not seen how thy desires ere have been
Granted in what He ordaineth?

Praise to the Lord, who doth prosper thy work and defend thee;
Surely His goodness and mercy here daily attend thee.
Ponder anew what the Almighty can do,
If with His love He befriend thee.

After we sang, our pastor taught this morning from Luke 12, and his message was a timely reminder. The Gospel, Bill said, always speaks first of who we are and only then of what we are to do. What is paramount is who (or Whose) we are, and when we remember that, our grip on the things of this world - be it our home, our wealth, our family, even our lives - can be loosened as we trust God to provide for our true needs.

Thank you, Lord, for your faithfulness in encouraging us even in the midst of our doubt and fear.

Blessings

I'm a fan of blessings. Maybe it stems from my early childhood love of Fiddler on the Roof . . . who knows. But, I especially love to speak and sing blessings over my children. There is something powerfully moving for me - and I hope eventually for them - to hear out loud the prayers of my heart for them. There are two songs by Dennis Jernigan that I sing/speak over my kids the most often. I thought I'd share the lyrics for anyone else who may be interested in praying these powerful prayers over your children, or any loved one for that matter. The one I'll share tonight is called, appropriately, The Blessing Song and was sung at mine and David's wedding while our fathers prayed quietly for us at the altar. I have the words matted and framed in Lauren's room, and I have sung this over them so many times that they know most of the words.


The Blessing Song
by Dennis Jernigan

May the Lord answer you in the day of your trouble
May the name of the Lord be your strong mighty tower
May He grant you your heart's deepest dreams and desires
May He answer each time you call
May He pour out the blessing of heaven
May you cast your cares on Him and daily fall
May you live to see your children's children
May Lord Jesus be your all in all

May the Lord Jesus Christ satisfy beyond all measure
May His Word light your path and
May His peace guard your heart
May your days be filled with gladness,
Joy and peace through any sadness
Filled with love that will not depart
May your strength be renewed like the eagle
As you run the race, may joy flood every part
May your memories all be sweet in each parting
May the peace of Christ rule in your heart

May His Word be to you health and life, joy and treasure
May your home be a light, and may the Lord guard your ways
May the Lord be your Shepherd
May His goodness and mercy follow after you all your days.
May His mercies be new every morning
May His grace and Holy Spirit help you stand
May you live your life to die for the gospel
May you hold to His unchanging hand

Unrest and arrogant pride

We sang one of my favorite hymns in church this morning. Our hymnal lists it as "Out of my Bondage, Sorrow, and Night," but you can find it on itunes as "Jesus, I Come." As we sang, I was struck by the lyrics in the first line of the third verse. (Here's the entire song.)

Out of my bondage sorrow and night,
Jesus, I come, Jesus I come.
Into Thy freedom, gladness and light
Jesus, I come to Thee.
Out of my sickness into Thy health,
Out of my want and into Thy wealth,
Out of my sin and into Thy-self
Jesus I come to Thee.

Out of my shameful failure and loss,
Jesus I come, Jesus I come;
Into the glorious gain of Thy cross
Jesus, I come to Thee;
Out of earth's sorrows into Thy balm,
Out of life's storms and into Thy calm,
Out of distress to jubilant psalm,
Jesus, I come to Thee.

Out of unrest and arrogant pride,
Jesus, I come, Jesus I come;
Into Thy blessed will to abide,
Jesus, I come to Thee;
Out of myself to dwell in Thy love
Out of despair into raptures above,
Upward for aye on the wings like a dove,
Jesus, I come to Thee.

Out of the fear and dread of the tomb,
Jesus, I come, Jesus I come;
Into the joy and light of Thy home,
Jesus, I come to Thee;
Out of the depths of ruin untold,
Into the peace of Thy sheltering fold,
Ever Thy glorious face to behold,
Jesus, I come to Thee.

You'll notice a pattern in which the conditions listed in the first line of each stanza have a logical connection to one another. Verse one: sorrow, bondage, and night. Verse two: shameful failure and loss. Verse four: fear and dread of the tomb. It's easy to see how the things in each stanza relate to one another. But, in verse three, the writer juxtaposes unrest and arrogant pride.

And so today I found myself pondering the connection was between unrest and pride. We have, of course, all experienced unrest in our lives to some degree or another: worry about finances, dissatisfaction in a job, wishing for more (or fewer, lol) children, the longing for a bigger house, a better car, better health . . . different circumstances. These can all be summed up in one thought: "There is something I'm missing." Isn't that what unrest is? The feeling that there is something else out there to have, to do, to be . . . a discontentment with what we have or where we are or who we are right now. I think the writer of this hymn got it right. Consider these feelings of discontentment and unrest in light of what what we read in scripture:

• Return to your rest, O my soul, For the LORD has dealt bountifully with you. Ps 116:7
• Take My yoke upon you and learn from Me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and YOU WILL FIND REST FOR YOUR SOULS.. Matt 11:29
• Not that I speak from want, for I have learned to be content in whatever circumstances I am. Philippians 4:11
• Behold, now is "THE ACCEPTABLE TIME;" behold, now is "THE DAY OF SALVATION." 2 Cor. 6:2.
• Therefore I am well content with weaknesses, with insults, with distresses, with persecutions, with difficulties, for Christ's sake; for when I am weak, then I am strong. 2 Cor. 12:10
  

Clearly, God desires for us to find contentment and rest in Him. To try doing otherwise is, indeed, a reflection of arrogant pride. Think about it: if God says that He is enough, but I feel like I need something more . . . be it something more tangible or more visible or more immediate (or more obvious or more spiritual, the list could go on) . . am I not purporting to know better what I need than He?

So, yes, out of unrest and arrogant pride is right. Pride that would lead me to think I could possibly comprehend and fathom what would be best for me. I, who know not what tomorrow holds. I who know not the boundaries of the lands and the seas. I who know not the number of hairs on my head. I who know not when this fleeting, mortal life shall cease to be. Arrogant pride, indeed.

Whatever My God Ordains

I recently discovered this hymn thanks to David Z. and the awesome song sheet (should that be one word?) he created for our Bible study this summer. It has been one of many songs that has brought me great comfort over the past 6 months, and I'm planning on posting the lyrics to several of them over the coming days. (How's that for an easy, lazy way to blog?)

No, really, God has always used music as a powerful and moving tool in my life, so much so that when I hear certain songs I can almost feel/smell/sense the circumstances of my life at the time the song ministered to me. When I found out I would need a very serious operation in February, one of the first things I did was sit down at the piano and begin playing "Be Still, My Soul." The second thing I did was to download dozens of hymns and worship songs onto my ipod to take with me to the hospital. Through many un-sleepable (?) days in ICU, I put my earbuds in and was comforted by the words to some of the most powerful songs I've ever known.

Now, as I'm preparing to move to Pennsylvania at whatever unknown point in the future our house should sell, I'm finding a need for comfort all over again. It was with this in mind that I shared the following song with my mom on our drive to Tennessee this past weekend. The song is called "Whatever My God Ordains is Right," and though written in 1676, its tribute to God's sovereignty is timeless.

The reason our family was in Tennessee was to visit my step-grandmother who is losing her 4-year battle with cancer. She was recently told that there is nothing more they can do and that she should have about 3 good months left. She is a Christian and is more than ever aware of the hope that we have in Christ, but even so, she is afraid of what the coming months hold for her. As anyone would be. Her circumstances gave me an even more powerful vantage point from which to view the message in these lyrics. Enjoy.

Whatever My God Ordains is Right

Whatever my God ordains is right
In his love I am abiding
I will be still in all he does
And follow where he is guiding
He is my God; though dark my road
He holds me that I shall not fall
And so to him I leave it all.

Whatever my God ordains is right
He never will deceive me
He leads me by the proper path
I know he will not leave me
I take content, what he has sent
His hand can turn my griefs away
And patiently I wait his day.

Whatever my God ordains is right
Here shall my stand be taken
Though sorrow, or need, or death be mine
Yet I am not forsaken
My Father’s care circles me there
He holds me that I shall not fall
And so to him I leave it all.

(Original lyrics by Samuel Rodigast and translated by Catherine Winkworth -Trinity Hymnal #94. Alternate lyrics and music by Mark Altrogge 2.18.07. You can download this song from the CD “In a Little While” at Sovereign Grace Music.)

A little . . . okay, a LOT . . . of my tale

I've been feeling compelled to write out my story lately . . . not because I think anyone wants to read it, but more because I will benefit from remembering and writing it. This will be a 2-part story describing two distinct ways the Lord has been working in my heart this year. I'm having trouble deciding whether to tell the "contentment no matter where He takes me" tale or the "thankful He saved my life" tale first. Hmm . . . I guess being alive is always a good place to start. (By the way, this is a loooooong story, so if you already know my medical saga, skip the first 13 or 14 paragraphs (yes, it's THAT long).)

For those who may not know my story, I have had a chronic kidney condition all my life. It's most likely benign, but I have seen a nephrologist for the past 15 years to monitor it, and in the interest of being on the safe side, my first nephrologist 15 years ago decided it would be prudent to biopsy one of my kidneys. This took place in 1994 when I was 19 years old. Unfortunately the biopsy was inconclusive - it revealed abnormalities but was not conclusive as to what the underlying defect was.

So, fast-forward about 10 years. I was 29 and barely pregnant with our third child (so barely that I wasn't even aware of her yet) when I developed high blood pressure for the first time. The drs pretty much treated it as pregnancy-induced hypertension even though they thought it highly unlikely that it would have developed so early in the pregnancy if that's really what it was. I began taking medicine to control my bp, and in the end Lauren was induced 3 weeks early because the medication was beginning to lose its efficacy.

Now comes the first time in this tale when I began to truly fear for my life. When Lauren was 3 days old, I developed the worst headache known to mankind. I had never experienced anything like it. It began on a Monday afternoon, and by the next morning I was in tears. We had to take Lauren to the pediatrician to get her billiruben checked that morning (yes, ALL of my kids decided to be jaundiced), and several nurses asked if I was okay. I struggled through that visit, which ended around 9:30 am. I had made an appt to see my midwife at noon but dropped the kids off at my mom's and headed on over there hoping she could see me sooner. I waited for about an hour in tears when finally I went to ask the nurse how much longer it would be. Taking one look at my face, she said, "Just one more minute." Within a minute I was having my bp taken, and at this point it had risen only to about 170/90. (It would continue to rise until it finally peaked at 210/115.) At that point, my midwife and the consulting OB sent me straight to the hospital with my "Do not pass go. Do not collect $200" card. I spent 4 days in the hospital with post-partum pre-eclampsia (which I did not know could occur), 2 of those days in critical care as they worked to get my bp under control. I finally got relief from the headache on about the middle of the second day.

I was sent home on day 4 (finally being able to see my 9 day old baby I hadn't seen since she was 5 days old) but my bp continued to be a roller coaster. Finally after a few weeks, the OB said this was clearly not pregnancy-related anymore and I needed to see my pcp because he would know of a wider range of bp medications to try. Of course, about this time our insurance changed, and our pcp was no longer covered, so I had to go see a new dr. He was listening to my heart and said, "Do you know you have a heart murmur?" Um, no. He said, "It's actually quite loud. Are you sure no one's ever mentioned it." Of course, I'm very sure, so he does a chest x-ray. Here comes my next "Do not pass go" card. My heart was enlarged, so he sent me straight to the cardiologist at 5:30 that afternoon.

The cardiologist was concerned that I may have had cardiomyopathy; I did not. He said that my heart was definitely enlarged and a couple of my valves (mitral and aortic) didn't close all the way, but it was probably the result of how high my bp had gotten during my pre-eclampsia episode. He wanted to keep an eye on things and thought it would probably resolve itself in time. It did not.

All this time, I'd been seeing my nephrologist to keep an eye on my kidneys. Sometime in mid-2006 he decided to do a kidney ultrasound since I had not had one in many years. That ultrasound revealed some enlarged blood vessels in my left kidney. He thought it was probably just some scarring from the biopsy I had had years before, but he ordered an MRI to get a closer look. So, I had an MRI in the fall of 2006, which confirmed enlarged blood vessels in that kidney. My dr decided not to do anything at that point (a decision he would later question) but to keep an eye on things. So, in December of 2007 he ordered another MRI. (Meanwhile, my bp had continued to require more and more medication in order to keep it down.) This time the MRI report was that the vessels of my left kidney were even larger than they had been the year before. This concerned him, but he still said it could be anything from a minor aneurysm to scar tissue to . . .

So, in Jan. 2008 I had an arteriogram of my kidney. (That's not a fun procedure, but it is pretty cool. The radiologist pretty much steers a catheter through your arteries much like a kid playing a video game, with the controls entirely on the outside of your body as he watches the inside on a monitor. I'm amazed at how they can make it twist and turn through exactly the vessels they want to get it to your heart, brain, kidney, etc.) As soon as the radiologist injected the dye, he said, "Oh wow, you have a massive AVM." (a term I would later learn means arterior-venous malformation) He had told me prior to the procedure that he would inform me right away of what he saw but that he would NOT make any guesses about what my dr may want to do about it. He stressed this point quite emphatically before he began the procedure, so I was a bit taken aback when his next words (after, "Call and see if Dr. W is in the hospital at the moment - he's going to want to see this right away.") were, "You're definitely going to need surgery to fix this. Yeah, they're gonna have to fix this." So much for not taking any guesses!

So, at this point (while I'm lying flat and still in the hospital bed for four hours, as is required after an artiogram), the radiologist told me to call my nephrologist and ask if he really wants to see me or if I should just go ahead and let them make an appt with the cardio-vascular surgeon. I didn't have to call. The next morning my phone rang, and it was Dr. W's office saying, "We're making an appt with the cardio-vascular surgeon." Still, I didn't have any idea what to expect. As anyone on the planet would do, I began to research AVM's on the internet. It seemed that the most common treatment was an arteriographic procedure where they insert some type of stent through your leg to repair the problem. Of course, I also read that sometimes they have to take out your kidney, but I had absolutely no idea which of the things I was reading applied to me. So, I did what any normal person would do . . . didn't worry about it and went on our church's women's retreat.

We were gone from Fri evening until Sunday around noon. It was a great retreat and a time of sharing and connecting with friends that I will treasure forever. I pulled into my parents' driveway around 1:00 Sunday afternoon (David had, of course, gone to my parents' house with the kids) and found David standing in the driveway waiting for me with a piece of paper in his hand. He barely said hello before saying that Dr. W had called and left his home number for me to call him when I got back to town. Ding-ding-ding!! Alarm bells going off in my head . . . he called on a Sunday??? And he left his home number??? Those are never good signs.

So, I called him right away, and he said that he had been in his office looking over my pictures (from the arteriogram) and realized that a whole lot of doctors were talking about Rebecca R, but he wasn't sure if anyone had actually talked to Rebecca R. Umm, no, actually. He said he just wanted to prepare me for the fact that I as going to be having a "huge operation" and that there was a very good chance I would lose my left kidney. Huh?? At this point, I still wasn't even 100% sure what an AVM was, much less how it was threatening my life. He said that he had moved my appt with Dr. B (the surgeon) up to the next afternoon and wanted this taken care of asap.

So, the next afternoon I went to Dr. B's (aka, my life-saver and miracle-performer) office and finally began to understand exactly what was going on with me. I finally saw the previous two years of my life beginning to make sense. Have you ever watched one of those artists on tv who starts a painting with seemingly random strokes on a huge canvass? I saw one once where the artist spun this huge square canvass around as he made stroke after seemeingly meaningless stroke, until all at once - as it was practically finished - I saw the face of Albert Einstein. It wasn't until almost the final stroke of the brush and spin of the canvass that I saw any face at all, and once I did, it was unmistakeable, and I didn't know how it had taken me so long to see it. That's what it was like when Dr. B explained my AVM. So, here it is:

When I had that kidney biopsy back in '94, the biopsy needle had nicked a hole in an artery and a vein. Blood had begun to leak, so instead of going from the artery to the vein via a capillary bed as it's supposed to, the blood was shunting straight from the artery into the vein. Well, as you proably know, the blood in an artery is high pressure, in a vein low pressure. So, over time, as this blood was forced into the vein at high pressure, it began to pool there and create what's called a fistula - a bulging area of blood vessel where blood accumulates. Well, after almost 14 years, that fistula had grown so much that there was more than twice as much blood in it as there was in the entire rest of my body. The result: my heart was having to work waaaaay overtime to supply enough blood to my body, resulting in an enlarged heart, high blood pressure, and chronic exhaustion (which I had chalked up to having 3 kids aged 3 and under!).

So, Dr. B's plan of action, he said, was to go in through my abdomen (because the kidney's vascular system lies in the front), find the exact spot of the leak, and fix it. Sounds pretty simple, right? Well, he said that the fistula contained so much blood that when reading the arteriogram pictures, it was impossible to tell exactly where the hole was. It would fill with blood with every beat of my heart, and by the time in emptied during the off-beat, it was already full again . . . so, he basically said he would have to go in fairly blind, use an ultrasound once he got inside of me, and try to find the leak that way and hopefully be able to save my kidney . . . and my life.

Now's probably a good time to mention my grandmother. My dad's mom (who died in her 60's while I was in college) had high blood pressure and kidney problems most of her adult life. She had the first of several heart attacks in her 30's and eventually died of a massive heart attack on the operating table for an unrelated, relatively minor, sugery. (Thyroid, I think.) So, all this time, I've pretty much figured that my health issues are just genetic, and whatever happened to her would probably happen to me, too.

Now, if you know me at all, you know I'm not an easily freaked-out person. As my pastor, Bill, would say, my boat doesn't tip real easily. Even right up until this point, I've been my usual even-keeled self - not panicked, not worried, not anxious . . . but, then . . .

I went for my pre-op on what was supposed to be the day before my surgery (it ended up being postponed a week because I had the freakin' flu), and at LEAST 4 different medical professionals (drs and nurses) came into the pre-op area and said, "Oh, you're the woman with that AVM?" or "I saw the pictures of that AVM . . . amazing . . . mind if I listen?" (You could hear it with a stethoscope on my side, and they were all in awe of that . . . imagine how much more amazed they were when I showed them that you could actually feel it just by touching my side . . . I'd been feeling it for a long time and just thought it was a very-strong pulse.) Or, my favorite, from my anasthesiologist (who is also a good friend), "Wow! Do you exercise at all? You do? That is unbelievable. I can't believe you're alive."

So, now that I was turning into a medical freak-show - which is great if you want fast and friendly service from a medical office staff, but not so great if you want someone to allay your fears about your condition - I was starting to get a little concerned. In fact, by the time I was on my way home I was coming unglued. Fear and panic were apparently trying to make up for lost time, and I became almost fully convinced that I was going to die on the operating table exactly like my grandmother had. Yep, that was it. Everything else was so uncannily similar to her that this made pefect sense, and I morphed into panic personified, crying and hyperventilating like there was, pun intended, no tomorrow.

Here's where my favorite phrase comes in, "But, God . . ." How many times is that found in the Bible? I don't know, but it's in there a lot. Things are looking mighty hopeless . . . but, God . . . those must be two of the most beautiful words in the English language. As I was driving home from the hospital I was listening to a song that I had not heard in, literally, years. Thanks to my recent aquisition of an ipod, I had been traveling down memory lane and dowloading songs I hadn't heard in ages. One of these was by an old Christian folk singer named Don Francisco. Most anyone under 35 or 40 has probably never heard of him, but the majority of his songs were simply Bible stories told in a beautifully poetic way and set to folk music.

The song I was listening to (unintentionally; it was on shuffle) during my drive home that day was called "Voyage to Gennesaret" and was the story of Jesus walking on the water as the disciples' boat was caught in a storm. Here are a few of the lyrics (the rest are in the link):

A man was walking on the water, and we trembled, cried and prayed
Till He stopped and turned and spoke to us, "It is I, don't be afraid.

At that moment, I had the clearest sense of God's presence and voice as I have ever had in my life. I saw Jesus - the unseen presence through every twist and turn of my life's journey - looking at me with love and saying, "It is I. Don't be afraid. Everything you're going through, have gone through, and will go through. Every road your life takes you on. Every storm you weather. Every joy, every sorrow, every pain, every unknown. It is always I. Never be afraid." I'm sure many of us have experienced what the Bible refers to as "peace that passes understanding," and this was truly one of those times. Only God could take me from abject fear to peaceful calm in a heartbeat.

And more aware of my heartbeats, I had never been. After two years of trying not to worry, every palpitation (and they were many) felt like it could be the end of me. The feeling of peace God gave me that day would not last; it would come and go. But, the vision and the message remained. I would lie in bed at night with my hand on my side feeling the blood pouring through the AVM and imagine that it was suddenly harder, faster, stronger, fainter . . . I conjured up images of my heart stopping or my insides hemmoraging that would make a CSI writer proud. But, always, I remembered God's voice: It is I. Don't be afraid.

So, thank you, Don Francisco. Thank you, Dr. B. Oh, how did things turn out? The surgery was not fun, but it was successful. After making a 10 1/2 inch incision and retracting my ribs out of the way, Dr. B located the leak with an ultrasound and was able to bypass and patch it without having to remove my kidney. I'm told that when they opened me up, my heart was pumping almost fourteen liters of blood per minute, and by the time they closed me, it was pumping six. (Five is normal.) Recovery was not easy . . . 5 days in ICU, 2 days in a regular room, 4 weeks without my kids, 6 weeks sleeping (or, more accurately, not sleeping) on the couch, and going on 6 months now with ribs that protrude in places they previously didn't and lingering pain when I do certain things like close the door on the back of the van or lift a heavy casserole dish out of the oven. But, you know what? I'm alive. God is still there, the unseen presence comforting and holding me steady through every storm He allows to come my way. And, like Peter, I sometimes keep my eyes on Him and experience a peace that is as miraculous as walking on water, but I often take them off and panic anew. For those times, here are a few more of the lyrics from the song, which is really from the Word of God:

I climbed across the gunwhale looking straight into His eyes
But long before I reached His side, the wind began to rise
I forgot Him in an instant and I sank just like a stone.
I cried out, "Jesus save me!" and His hand was on my own.

Thankful Friday

Why, you may ask, would I have a picture of a cell phone on my Thankful Friday list? Because it has been missing for three days! Now, I'm a reasonable and rational person, and I am fully aware of the fact that I got along just fine for multiple decades without a cell phone. Indeed, those who came before me got along just fine without phones of any sort for centuries. Nevertheless, I need my cell phone. And, I am BEYOND thankful that I found it. Where? Under my bed. Before today, I thought the last time I remembered seeing it was when I was talking to my dear friend Alison in my car on Tuesday. Today, however, I had a sudden and euphoric revelation, a vision you might say, of my delightful daughter sitting on my bed playing with the camera feature on my phone the other day. (And, no, she did not have permission to do this, but when has that ever stopped her?) Remembering this, I began pulling off sheets and blankets and finally, on my hands and knees, I found it . . . the holy grail. Okay, not quite, but it sure does feel like it.



Lauren got her first haircut this week. Yes, she has hair. Not rich, full, flowing locks like some girls her age have, but hair. The boys were getting haircuts and she kept asking if it was her turn yet. I asked the girl who cuts theirs whether she thought trimming it from time to time might help it thicken up. Sensing the opportunity to lighten me of 5 more dollars, she of course, said, "absolutely!" So, Lauren got her haircut. I have no picture of it, nor did I save a lock of the hair that was cut. Being the remarkably un-sentimental person that I am, it did not even occur to do this with either of the boys, so I figure I won't rub salt in the wound of having a thoughtless mom by suddenly becoming thoughtful and sentimental over Lauren's milestones. I'm smart and thoughtful that way . . . and maybe they'll spend ever so slightly less on therapy in years to come.

Other things I'm thankful for today:

• Finding inexpensive tickets for our trip to PA next week so all of us will get to go.
• That David has several job options possibly opening doors for us to move to PA soon. Am I thankful for that? Not exactly, but I am thankful that, against all odds, God has given me peace about it, and it is nice not to be a walking ball of anxiety and fear.
• A hymn we sung in church last week, "O, God Beyond All Praising," which has a stanza that says this: "And, whether our tomorrows be filled with good or ill, we'll triumph through our sorrows and rise to bless you still." That really spoke to me this week.
• The chocolate trinity milkshakes the kids and I made this afternoon . . . mmm, mmm.
• Lauren's face after eating a chocolate milkshake